As she closed the doors behind her she said to the anxiously waiting Josephine, ‘How far on in labour is Mrs Remer?’

‘It’s hard to say because I’ve never seen anyone go into labour so hard and so suddenly, but she needs a doctor—and at the moment there’s no one with her apart from the dog.’

Her deeply worried father and uncle strode up to Zelda and she said, ‘You were right, Pa. Soller can’t be spared. I’m going upstairs to sit with Vicky, but we need another doctor and we need one fast.’

‘Don’t worry,’ her father said capably. ‘You’ll have one.’

Grateful he was there, knowing she could rely on him, she wasted no more time. As fast as the train of her wedding dress would allow, she hurried out of the ballroom and towards the stairs, Josephine hard on her heels.

Never in her life had Vicky been so glad to see anyone.

‘I’m trying to hold back till the doctor arrives, but I can’t, Zelda! I just want to push and push!’

‘Landsakes!’ Zelda, who had expected to find her in labour, but with hours to go before the actual birth, stared down at her, appalled. The baby was quite obviously on the verge of being born and she was sickeningly aware there was no one to deliver it apart from herself and Josephine.

She never panicked and she didn’t panic now.

‘Hot water, fast!’ she said to Josephine, gathering her scattered wits, knowing she didn’t even have time to change out of her wedding dress. ‘And towels and scissors and string. And get that darned dog out of the room.’

Vicky let out a deep groan, her eyes glazed with pain. ‘Where is Berthold?’ she gasped. ‘Is he worrying? Please tell him not to worry, Zelda.’

‘Never mind Berthold. Berthold can take care of himself. Can you push yourself a little lower down on the bed, Vicky? That way I can be centre-on to you, not standing off-side.’

As Vicky struggled to comply, Zelda pushed every available pillow behind her so that she also had support.

There was a gush of fluid and Josephine, hurrying into the room with everything Zelda had asked her to collect, hastily thrust a towel towards her.

Zelda spread it on the bed, saying tautly, ‘The baby’s head is showing. I can see its hair. Don’t push any more, Vicky. Hold my hand tightly and pant, darling. Pant!’

Seconds later the baby’s head crowned.

Vicky screamed.

Zelda barely heard her. Never before had she been so excited and exhilarated.

‘Oh, God, Vicky!’ she gasped. ‘It’s coming! It’s coming!‘

Bending low, she stretched out her hands and seconds later, as easy as shelling peas, her nephew slithered into them.

He was covered in mucus and blood and she didn’t care. He had all his fingers and toes and, eyes screwed tight, was bawling as lustily as a New York stevedore.

Never in her life had Zelda felt so emotional, not even when her own son had been born. Never. Tears streamed down her face. ‘Darling, darling Vicky,’ she said as the baby squirmed slipperily, ‘you have a little boy. You have a son.’